


The Greatest Misconception

by justfandomthings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hurt John Watson, Kidnapped John Watson, M/M, Protective Sherlock, Worried Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 23:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12875448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justfandomthings/pseuds/justfandomthings
Summary: John Watson is tired of getting kidnapped. This happens all the time because people expect Sherlock Holmes to come flying to his rescue. (And he does.) Just for once, though, would his kidnappers take the time to appreciate that he was in the Army? He can take care of himself!Well, most of the time. This guy seems to actually be doing a somewhat decent job at keeping John from escaping. (Which is not a good sign.)





	The Greatest Misconception

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the 2017 AwesomeSauce competition. I'm so excited and honored to have been able to write in this competition. It was a blast!

 

“Have you ever considered Sherlock Holmes’s greatest misconception?”

John opens his eyes and shoots a disinterested glare at his captor. The towering man, who is built firmly and stands tall at six feet, three inches, chuckles at the annoyed expression on his prisoner’s face. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Wise man.” John makes a half-hearted attempt at moving his hands, but they are secured tightly to the standing bedframe he is chambered to. “Is it my turn to ask a question?”

The kidnapper sighs as if the question pains him, but nods. Without hesitation, John demands, “Why am I here? Certainly the local gym would have been able to provide you with a better punching bag than I do.”

“Probably,” the man agrees absently as he checks the number of bullets in his weapon. “However, you act as the perfect bait, and that is immensely more important than a handy punching bag, no matter how fun hitting you has been.”

“Oh yes, it’s been a joy,” John says dryly. “Who or what am I bait for, exactly?”

“Sherlock Holmes, of course!”

John nods slowly. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. When the man frowns at him, he clarifies, “You think Sherlock is going to come save me as my knight in shining armor. Take my advice: don’t hold your breath. I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up for nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, it won’t be for nothing. You see, Dr. Watson, it’s just a matter of time before Sherlock Holmes comes barging through that there door, demanding for me to set you free as the concerned friend- and lover- he is. That’s when I’ll put the next step of my plan into action.”

Silence fills the room as John glares at his captor. “Which would be?”

“Telling would ruin the surprise!” comes the reply in a near-whine.

“I won’t tell,” John promises as he rolls his eyes. His captor may be harsh and have a brutal uppercut, but he's a little slow on the uptake if he hasn't realized that John is physically incapable of relaying any information to Sherlock at the moment.

“Maybe I want you to be surprised and not him,” the man smirks.

“You seem pretty predictable to me so far.”

“Oh? Go on, friend. I'm intrigued.”

John glances disinterestedly at the gun suddenly pointed at his head. Well, check one for sensitive. At least John has identified one sure way to guarantee his escape, although, by the look of things it won’t be good for his health. Oh well. It is what it is.

Looking into the man’s cold blue eyes, John nods firmly. “For one thing, you're just like every other man who has ever kidnapped me. It's getting a little dull, to be honest. It's not even-”

A resounding smack fills the air as the man slaps John in the face as hard as he can. John barely flinches as he turns his head back around to face his kidnapper again. Note to self: pissing off a man with a gun pointed at your head is not very smart. He’s lucky he wasn’t shot, and if it weren’t for the fact the man needs him alive to get to Sherlock, he would probably be dead right now.

“I think you're a little dull, mate,” John’s captor announces.

John resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead focuses on how he's getting _way_ too comfortable with getting kidnapped: he’s not even concerned that he had just come close to losing his life. (The soldier in him truly makes him uncomfortably okay with the idea of death. John's pretty sure that's a bad thing.)

Thinking about it, he can’t keep calling this guy ‘Captor’. It’s a boring name, and besides, all of his other kidnappers have always had a name for him to refer to them as. Granted, it’s usually been fake and pretty damn lame, but the idea of calling this guy ‘Nameless One’ or ‘Captor’ really is too dull to tolerate after almost ten hours of being used as a punching bag. If he’s going to call his kidnapper anything, ‘Mister X’ sounds like a good name. It’s almost a James Bond name- but it can’t be spelled ‘Mr. X’. That would ruin the mysterious atmosphere John has associated with his captor. No, ‘Mister X’ spelled out in its entirety is the perfect name.

John almost laughs to himself, but decides to laugh now would be seen in a negative light by his Mister X. As unconcerned as he is- again with the being way too used to being kidnapped- he doesn't have a death wish. That ship has long left the harbor.

When a smirk is his only response to Mister X’s statement, he steps closer to get in John’s face.

“The way I see it, you are just being nonchalant about being kidnapped because you know your boyfriend is going to save your weak, pathetic ass,” Mister X snarls.

“Aww shit, I didn't think I was weak!” John frowns. “Am I really? I was even in the Army, damn it all.”

John sees the blow before he feels it, and has the sense to brace himself before a closed fist is slamming into his already-cracked ribs. Wheezing slightly John snaps, “Okay, that stung a little, I'll give you that. You wanna know why I'm being so nonchalant about this, fine I'll tell you. The first time I was kidnapped, I was worried. The second time I was annoyed, and the third time, I was frankly pissed. Everyone kidnaps me expecting that Sherlock will come to my rescue, but you know what they always forget? That Sherlock doesn't do emotion! He doesn't care about me and if one of my captors kills me, well that's a shame. No one can serve him tea anymore. So, I'm sorry if I seem unconcerned but I'm not because, at the end of the day, I'm the one who will be saving myself. The Scotland Yard’s not coming to save me, and Sherlock’s certainly not coming either. He probably hasn't even noticed I'm missing yet.”

Mister X stares at John, clearly startled at his outburst, and then bursts into laughter. When he's done wiping his eyes, he chortles, “That has to be one of the best sob stories I've ever heard. You are a good actor, I'll give you that, but you know what you aren't?”

When John remains silent, he steps closer so he can whisper into John’s ear. “You aren't unloved. He'll come for you. He did for Moriarty, didn't he?”

“He came to bargain with Moriarty. He had no idea I was even missing until he arrived there,” John replies, and is that bitterness in his voice? He can't let that Drama King of Criminal Madness get into his head, not now, and not ever. He’s not Sherlock’s tool and he knows it. Moriarty was just feeding him lies, and right now, he’s playing a role. He knows how genuine Sherlock’s affection is for him.  

“My dear boy, you have underestimated your fellow man!” Mister X chuckles and directs John’s attention to the monitor set up across the room. “Look who is here, just for you! My, my, won’t he be sad to hear that his lover doesn't think much of him! Who’s going to break the bad news to him: you or me?”

John glances at the screen and shrugs. “How do I know you didn't offer to settle some game with him? Matching wits, perhaps? That always seems to get his attention.”

“Not matching wits, oh no, I would be at a large disadvantage if that were the case, and we can't have that!” Mister X laughs as he whips the hand containing the gun in John’s direction. He just barely misses John’s head at the action, and John exhales silently in relief. A knock to the head by a loaded gun would have been bad. Had he been struck, the gun could have gone off, ending his life in a cruel way. His lover, arriving to save him, only to be a minute too late. No, John can’t let this man achieve what he has come here to do. It would destroy Sherlock, and it might yet if John doesn’t come up with a plan. “No, I'm not going to challenge him to a game of intelligence, I'm going to challenge him to a duel.”

“A duel?” John snorts. “I hate to break it to you, but this isn't the medieval times.”

“Yes, a duel.” Mister X sounds offended. “In exchange for your life, Mr. Holmes is going to allow me to do whatever I want to him.”

For the first time in the near-ten hours he's been taken, John feels a bolt of fear shoot through him. He knows Sherlock would not hesitate to accept such an offer in order to protect him.

“Get ready, pretty boy,” Mister X croons in a sing-song voice, and then sends a brass knuckle into John’s ribs. John manages to stifle a gasp at the first contact, but each following blow is only harder and aimed more precisely. On the fourth hit to his ribs, a crack fills the air and John groans.

“I told you I wasn't like the others!” Mister X shouts between jabs, and even though he said no such thing, John can't find the energy to tell him so. “Not so predictable now, am I?” John sees him raise his arm and can only close his eyes as he braces for the final blow.

When he returns to the land of the living, it is to the sound of Sherlock’s frantic shouts. “John, John! Good God, open your eyes, John!”

‘Shuup,” he mumbles without complying, and even that utterance drains him of precious energy he wasn't aware he still had in him.

“John! Please be alright!” Sherlock gasps with relief at the sound of his friend’s voice, and it's the fear apparent in his voice that causes John to open his eyes weakly.

“ ‘m alright, ‘Lock.” John doesn’t have the energy to say anything after that so he doesn’t. Instead, he takes the time to meet Sherlock’s eyes from across the room. Sherlock is tied up to a chair and there’s pain barely hidden in his expression that tells John of the abuse that had been forced on his lover when he was unconscious. Sherlock must have willingly submitted when he entered the room, John recognizes, and seethes furiously when he realizes he had indeed been bait for Sherlock- just not in the way he had thought he would be.

Shaking his head slowly, John tries to clear his head. He has a concussion. No surprise there but he needs to focus. He needs to get them out of here. Which will be hard considering they are both tied up, but they’ll figure something out. They have before. They’ve been in worse situations than this. Granted, their kidnappers haven’t been crazed lunatics looking to play mind games (okay, minus Moriarty) but John has no doubt they can make it through this okay. Hopefully.

Despite his efforts to focus, his mind wanders to only a few months ago on that fateful evening. They had just returned home after the conclusion of a thrilling case, and both were riding the high of having just successfully closed another case. Sherlock had been especially enthused after the conclusion of the case and upon their arrival into their flat, had kissed John on the lips passionately. Although unexpected, Sherlock’s impulsive action had caused feelings to be admitted and a wonderful relationship to blossom.

Their relationship is still new and everything is a bit unexplored for them at the moment but John has no doubt of the love Sherlock has for him. He admitted it on that day they kissed and since then John has always seen the love and care shining in Sherlock’s eyes, which is why he knows what he has to do.

“Sherl-lock, where’s X?” John winces at his weakened voice but doesn't back down from his staring competition with the camera in the corner of the room. “X? We need to talk.”

“John, what are you-”

“Mister X, where is he?”

Sherlock glances at John with a frown and then rolls his eyes. “Oh! You mean the absolutely boring man who kidnapped you. He’s just like the others, as I hope you've noticed in your time spent with him. Lots of threats on our lives with very few actions so far. He’s down the hall “in the bathroom”, according to him, but he’s actually in the back room watching us through the camera.”

“I figured.” John glances at Sherlock quickly. “You didn’t make that deal with him, did you?”

“What deal?” Sherlock questions, but his voice is just a bit too innocent for John’s liking.

“X! Come here!” John calls as loud as he can, and pretends he doesn’t wince at his own loud voice. “X! We need to talk!”

“What a glorious sight, the two of you tied up so nicely!” Mister X chortles as he walks into the room with a hop in his step. “I do appreciate your efforts, Mr. Holmes, to get me to release your boyfriend. Touching, really, it is, but I’m sorry to inform you that I’ve thought your proposition over and I think it’s dull.”

“You said-”

“Isn’t ‘dull’ a lovely word?” Mister X interrupts as he walks over to Sherlock. “My mother came to you once, did you know that? Someone had broken into her house and stole her wedding ring. She asked you to investigate but you told her it was too ‘dull’ and sent her away. She died broken-hearted because her wedding ring was never found.” Mister X whirls around, stalking over to where John is stood. Delighted hatred shines in his eyes as he grabs John’s neck with his hand and forces John to look at him. “Look at him, Sherlock. Is his life dull to you? Or, does it mean something to you? Our actions in life have consequences and you are looking at your consequence for turning my mother away.” He squeezes his hand to emphasize his point and John finds himself momentarily without oxygen.

John gasps for air and Mister X pulls his hand away. Breathing heavily, John looks across the room and makes eye contact with his boyfriend. Sherlock’s expression is carefully blank to stop his emotions from showing but John can see right through him. He always has been able to read Sherlock and this is no exception. There’s a horrible self-loathing look in Sherlock’s eyes that makes John want to wrap his boyfriend in a tight embrace and never let go.

X has already gotten into his head, John realizes a bit slowly _. Even if he is lying, X has clearly done his research on us. He knows our weaknesses and how to rattle us. It’s working_.

“John had nothing to do with that case,” Sherlock says quietly. “We hadn’t even met at the time. It’s not fair to punish him for something I did. If you want to punish someone, fine, hurt me. Leave him out of this.”

“Fair? Of course it’s not fair. Nothing in life is ever “fair” but that’s just how it is.” Mister X draws a gun from the inside pocket of his jacket and points it at John’s forehead. “Yeah, remember this? It’s your old buddy. You watched me count the bullets in it. Do you remember how many they were?” Mister X taunts as he presses the barrel to John’s forehead. “There was one and guess where that bullet is going...”

“No!” Sherlock’s voice is shrill, but John’s is more intimidating.

“You never told me!” John bursts and the room falls silent.

Mister X slowly pulls back the gun and there’s a soft sigh of relief from Sherlock. “What?”

“You asked me what Sherlock’s greatest misconception was, and then never told me what it was.”“Why don’t you answer for yourself?” Mister X asks, waving the gun at Sherlock now. “Tell us what your greatest misconception is!”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t know how important people are because I am too focused on my own strengths. All I care about is myself.” He meets John’s eyes and gets a slight nod from him.

“I would accept that,” Mister X muses and then flicks off the safety. “Well, I thoroughly enjoyed this chat, but as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. The question is, who should I kill? Should I kill Dr. Watson and make you watch?” He directs the question at Sherlock before pointing the gun at John’s head again. “I would ask you if you want to see your precious Holmes die, but I’m afraid the whole point of this get-together was to kill you. I’m sorry, doctor, I really am, but the idea of killing you brings me such joy. I hope you don’t mind…”

“I don’t, but you might,” John snaps in return and watches in satisfaction as Sherlock lunges for Mister X. He slams him against the wall beside the bed-frame and then knocks Mister X’s hand against the wall until the gun clatters to the floor. Sherlock kicks the gun away and somehow both men end up going down to the ground in a tangle of long limbs.

“Sherlock, knife!” John cries out, spotting X’s hand disappear into his pocket and return with a gleaming object. John pulls at the handcuffs, wishing more than anything that he could help Sherlock subdue X, but he only succeeds in scraping his wrists raw. He won’t be getting out of the handcuffs anytime soon.

Sherlock slams the hand containing the knife onto the ground, and then a second time. On the third time, the knife clatters to the ground and Sherlock is able to push it away. Two weapons down, how many left? John isn’t sure he wants to know.

In his focus on Sherlock’s efforts to subdue X, he almost misses the fist that X has clenched, and is aiming at Sherlock’s head. “Sherlock, watch out!” John shouts. His shout comes just in time and Sherlock is able to block the punch easily. The block allows Sherlock to gain control and something in him must snap, because he begins punching Mister X over and over again until the man’s face is bloody and his eyes are closed. “Sherlock, stop!” John says sharply when Mister X is well past subdued. “That’s enough!”

Panting for air, Sherlock leans back on his heels and stares down at his blood-stained hands. “What did I do?” he whispers brokenly.

“You stopped him from killing me,” John says gently. “Hey, Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock looks up at his boyfriend with red-rimmed eyes. The pained look in his eyes nearly breaks John’s heart and he says desperately, “You were angry. He almost killed us. Remember, I killed a man to save you the day after we met. You did what you had to do to save me.”

Standing shakily, Sherlock reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key he had pickpocketed from X during their scuffle. “Just a moment,” he murmurs and has John uncuffed in a matter of seconds. As soon as John is released from the handcuffs, which had been the only thing keeping him upright, he falls into Sherlock’s awaiting arms. “I’ve got you,” Sherlock promises. They take a minute to handcuff Mister X’s wrists and then limp out of the warehouse together.

Collapsing on a rock, John leans against Sherlock and rests his head on his shoulder. Sherlock wraps one arm around him to keep him close and they sit in silence for several minutes before John mutters, “He lied to you.”

Sherlock glances at John sharply. “About?”

“His mother and her ring. No such thing ever occurred.”

“How do you-”

“Before you came, we argued about how he wanted to make a name for himself. He wanted to be different; he wanted to be memorable and noteworthy enough so you would come after him. He made that entire thing up just so he could get in your head. It’s Moriarty all over again.”

“He was not-”

“He was, Sherlock,” John says gently. “I had ten hours to think about this, and I know I’m right. Moriarty’s plan was to get in our heads. He never planned to kill us; he merely wanted to haunt us. That’s why he kidnapped me and told me how worthless I was. He knew my fear was that you would realize how pointless it was to have me around and get rid of me, and when he kidnapped me, his entire goal was to make me doubt our friendship. Maybe he would have blown me up, I don’t know. However, I do not think his intention that night was to kill us. Mister X had the same ambitions as Moriarty except for one thing: he wanted to hurt you by killing me. That was all he wanted. He needed to impress a hierarchy and figured breaking the fabulous Sherlock Holmes would be a good in. There was no mother with the missing wedding ring or dismissal of any case. It was all simply an act to hurt you by the strongest means possible.”

“Mister X?”

John rolls his eyes. “Figures that is all you would get out of that conversation,” he huffs. “I had to call the guy something, didn’t I? He refused to tell me his name so I made it up. It was that or ‘Bob’. I think Mister X was a better fit, don’t you?”

“Mister X or Bob.” Sherlock grins. “John Watson, you are absolutely unique.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” John protests, but he’s smiling too. “I just chose those names at random; I wasn’t trying to be creative!”

“I can tell,” Sherlock returns with a sparkle in his eyes.

John crosses his arms, pretending to pout, but goes still when Sherlock’s hand slides into his own. “I thought I was going to lose you,” Sherlock whispers, and his voice is weak. “When I walked into that room and saw you unconscious and bleeding...”

“I’m okay, love,” John reassures quietly. “A bit bruised and a little bloodied…” He winces when he inhales too deeply, “And we’re going to need to stop at the A&E on the way home, but I’m going to be fine. You got to me in time.”

“What if I’m not fast enough next time? What if I don’t notice you’re gone until it’s too late? I get wrapped up in my experiments, you know I do, and I lose track of time and-” Sherlock’s voice trembles. “My enemies know you are my one weakness, John, and they will never stop trying to use you against me. I-I couldn’t bear it if something more serious were to beset you…”

“I know how difficult it is for you when you realize what’s happened.” John’s voice is soft. “And I wish you didn’t have to go through that. I wish I could spare you that fear and grief; I really wish I could. You can’t dwell on the what-ifs, though. They will only bring you down and concern you unnecessarily. I’m safe, and you’re safe, and that’s all that’s important right now.”

“Perhaps.” Sherlock closes his eyes and lowers his head to John’s shoulder. “I was scared,” he murmurs. “I don’t like it.”

John chuckles, not at Sherlock, but at the statement. “No one does, love,” he responds before saying in a more serious tone, “It’s normal to be scared. In a situation like that- with some arrogant arsehole who is purposely trying to scare us- I think it’s expected to be apprehensive and worried. What’s important to know is that even if I’m not physically at your side, you always have my support and love.”

Sherlock squeezes John’s hand and says, “You’ve always been quite the romantic, did you know that?”

Laughing, John nods. “I think you may have mentioned that once or twice,” he responds, but draws a quick breath when his broken rib comes alive with pain. “Ouch,” he mutters, pressing his free hand to his ribs as a support.

Sitting upright, Sherlock quickly accesses John with his eyes. “How many are broken? Cracked? Bruised?” he demands all in one breath.

“One broken…” John feels his ribs tenderly with his hand and frowns. “Another one cracked, I think, and two are bruised. Could be worse considering I was his personal punching bag for the ten hours.”

Sherlock shudders and gently pulls John closer to him. “When I saw him point that gun to you after all the wounds he had inflicted on you… I wanted to hurt him, John. All I could think about was how he had attacked you and how I had to punish him for what he did.”

“That’s the dark side in all of us,” John responds softly. “When someone we care about-”

“Love,” Sherlock corrects.

John smiles and his eyes are fond as he nods his agreement. “When someone we love is purposely hurt by another, humans as a society, it seems, have a tendency to want to see justice for their loved one. An eye for an eye, I suppose.”

“Had you not been there, I think I would have killed him and had no regrets,” Sherlock says, and his voice is low with fury. “He never should have beaten you or tried to use you as a-a _tool_ that can be used for whatever he wants!”

John glances at Sherlock sharply. “Moriarty said that,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“One of the things he told me when we were waiting for you to arrive was that I was your tool.” John clears his throat and continues softly, “He said that I was your plaything that you used to gain his attention, just as I was his tool to get yours.” John shrugs. “Like I said, he wanted to get in my head and make me second guess our friendship.”

“Did you? Second guess our friendship?” Sherlock avoids John’s eyes as he asks the question.

“In the hours he held me, yes. That’s all he would say to me: ‘John, you’re just his tool, just his blogger...why do you think he calls you his friend when he has gone his entire life without friends?’” John shakes his head. “I’ve never questioned our loyalty to each other since that night. I’m ashamed to admit I did even the once.”

“I thought you were Moriarty at first,” Sherlock admits guilty.

“I know,” John says gently. When Sherlock glances at him, startled, John shrugs. “I saw it in your eyes. You looked betrayed."

“Yeah, well, you’re the first true friend I’ve ever had. I couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving me too.” Sherlock’s voice is heavy. “I still can’t.”

“Hey, that’s not going to happen, okay?” John squeezes Sherlock’s hand. “Not if I can help it.”

Sherlock nods mutely and the two fall into silence for several minutes as they wait for the ambulance until Sherlock speaks up. “Do you remember when Mister X made me share my greatest misconception?”

John nods.

“I was lying. My greatest misconception is not my lack of recognition of people’s worth. I know how valuable people are; I just tend to ignore it. No, my greatest misconception is that I underestimate just how much I love you and the lengths I would go to to keep you safe.”

There’s a tender, loving look in John’s eyes as he leans over to press a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “I love you too,” he whispers and held in each other’s arms, the two men wait for their ride home to come.

 

The End.


End file.
